


First Statement

by assholeachilleus



Series: Deaf!jon au [11]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Deaf!Jon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans!Martin, headarchivist!sasha, there's nothing too bad tho, warning for general magnus statement weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholeachilleus/pseuds/assholeachilleus
Summary: Jon reads his first statement as an archival assistant at the Magnus Institute.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Deaf!jon au [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072478
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	First Statement

**Author's Note:**

> omggg i abandoned my boysssss :( honestly capitalism is The Worst and should've been an eldritch horror all on its own. 
> 
> I'm so sorry this is super late, work has been so so busy, and honestly catching up after the holidays is like ahhhh. 
> 
> Also, if there's any american readers I hope you're all staying safe after the fuckery this week, my thoughts are with you all <3 
> 
> I just wanted to reiterate that I love this series, and I definitely won't stop writing for it, but updates might be a little sporadic going forward. 
> 
> As always, thank you to anyone who reads, comments, and leaves kudos on these, I really really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy!

Jon sat down in the uncomfortable metal chair, statement looming ominously on the worn desk in front of him. He took a deep breath. The recorder clicked on. 

“Statement of Riley Chaves regarding an unusual encounter on New Years Eve two thousand and six. Recorded by Jonathan Sims, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

“I’d never really gotten the whole new year's eve hype. Sure, it was fun to go to the local bar and get black out drunk, stumbling dangerously back home at a ridiculous time in the morning, the black sky turning inky blue, a silence in the air that wasn’t possible at any other time, but I didn’t need a special occasion for it. 

I’d moved to London from my home in Bradford that year for university, and my roommates insisted on dragging me to the bar to celebrate the end of our first year, chattering about how we couldn’t just ‘stay in and get drunk’ like I’d suggested. Apparently we just had to go out and pay for overpriced drinks and outlandish entrance fees. Whatever. I didn’t exactly have anything better to do. 

So we went. And it was honestly just as horrible as you’d think. People were everywhere; the bar was cramped and crowded, spilt drinks were commonplace, and if you went to the toilet and there wasn’t some drunk girl spewing up her pot noodle dinner you were extremely lucky. 

The night passed in a blur of drunk chatter and loud music, which may have had more to do with the tequila shots I’d ingested copious amounts of, than me actually having fun. 

Around three in the morning, I’d decided enough was enough. I wanted to go home and curl up in my warm and inviting bed, away from drunk people with no regard for personal boundaries or where it was appropriate to throw up. 

I headed off on my own. I’d long since lost my flat mates and I knew they wouldn’t be worried. I always had a tendency to wander off, ever since I was a young girl. And I knew my shaved head and leather-clad appearance at least explained a little as to why I was never bothered. 

I was walking down an empty London street, which was weird considering it should’ve been filled with stumbling drunks, the crack of fireworks, night buses rumbling down the street, and the like. But it was completely silent. 

I stopped dead in the middle of a road, looking around in disbelief. Without the echoing thump of my footsteps, I suddenly felt very very alone. I couldn’t even hear the low level buzz of the street lights. It was beyond eerie. 

I started walking again, more for something to actually do, than because I felt any semblance of confidence. 

I was like I knew where I was, but everything was just slightly wrong. A street name I recognised would be on the left instead of the right, my favourite chinese takeaway had a different name, and, above all else, was the oppressive silence. It unnerved me. 

I have no idea how long I walked for, but the sky didn’t change. My legs started to ache though, so it must have been hours. It felt like hours. At some point I’d cried, terrified that I was stuck in this weird place forever. That I’d never see another soul ever again. 

The tears got so bad, the sobs wracking my body, my hands and legs shaking with terror, that I just sat there. Slumped is maybe more accurate. I just collapsed in the middle of the street, tears blurring my vision, the horrific thought that I’d always be alone. Maybe I’d always been alone. I pressed my cheek to the cold tarmac and I closed my eyes. 

The next thing I remember someone was shaking my arm. Time had passed, maybe I’d even fallen asleep. I glanced up at the middle-aged couple who’d crouched down to help me. Everything was back suddenly; the rumbling of traffic, the chatter of drunk people, the buzzing of the street lamps, all of it. I wept in relief. I even hugged the couple, although they probably thought I was drunk or high on something. I called my family as soon as I got in, to tell them I loved them. 

I don’t walk alone anywhere now. And, I haven’t been out after dark since.” 

Jon took a shuddering breath. He could feel the cool tarmac on his cheek, hear the oppressive silence snaking its insidious tendrils into his ears, and he had to check he hadn’t taken out his hearing aids without realising. Jon could feel that warm ache of loneliness in his chest, feel the dried tears, and the stinging of his cracked lips. His limbs felt numb, aching with cold tiredness that seeped into his bones. 

Jon pressed his hands flat on the worn wood, really feeling the deep grooves and phantom writing that had been scratched into it from years of use. And slowly, painfully slowly, the ghosts of aches and tears and silence started to fade. He came back to the present. It was like when you wake up after a restful sleep, disorientated, blinking into the light of day, taking stock of your surroundings as though for the first time. 

“Right, ah, final thoughts. It’s frustrating that Ms Chaves neither mentions her university or the names of her friends in this statement, and I can’t help but feel maybe that’s intentional. After doing some digging, I’ve come to the conclusion that this statement was made under a fake name. I couldn’t find any Ms Chaves who would fit the age and occupation. Not a whole lot of follow up to be done really. It could possibly be the lonely, or even the spiral. Hmm. Well whoever they were, I hope they found some closure after giving the statement.” 

Jon clicked the recorder off, taking a deep breath. 

A knock on the door startled Jon, and he took a second to compose himself before answering. 

“Come in.” The huge door creaked open on its worn hinges, scraping chillingly against the wooden floor ominously. 

A flood of warmth surged into Jon’s chest at the sight of Martin, all tight curls and flushed cheeks, and comfortable knitted jumpers. 

Martin smiled hesitantly. “Hi, I, er, I didn’t know if you were recording. I brought you tea.” He walked in, putting the mug of tea down, and leaning his hip against the table. 

Jon reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Martin’s wrist, feeling the reassuring thump of his pulse. “Did I ever tell you I love you?” 

Martin flushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “All the time actually.” 

Jon smiled gently, pressing a soft kiss to Martin’s palm. “Good, because I do.” He took a slip of his tea, enjoying the warm comfort it brought to him, the dark tendrils of silence and cold tarmac fully receded now. 

Martin’s forehead creased. “Are, are you alright?” 

Jon glanced up, his eyebrows raised. “Am I not allowed to tell my boyfriend I love him now?” He busied himself with tidying the papers on his desk, taking care not to knock the steaming cup of tea precariously balanced near the edge. 

Martin sighed. “Of course you are.” He took a sip from his own mug. “But you did just finish reading a statement so…” He left the words to hang like a grey morning haze between them, worry lines creased in the corners of his eyes and mouth. 

Jon nodded, a little to himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just didn’t realise how, how intense reading statements would be. You know?” 

Martin clicked his tongue in sympathy, reaching out to push stray strands of greying hair out of his face. “I know. You wanna talk about it?” 

Jon smiled softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss on Martin’s lips. He blinked in surprise, eyes widening. “No. I’m, ah, I’m alright. Now that you’re here.” 

Martin smiled sheepishly, a blush crawling up his cheeks. “You’re turning into a hopeless romantic, you know.” 

“Well, I wonder whose fault that is.” Jon shifted his tense muscles, stretching blissfully, and standing up. “I’m hungry, you want to grab some lunch?”

Martin smiled softly. “Sure, love.”


End file.
